


Tell Me I'm A Bad Man

by SaskiaK



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: F/M, Ghosts?, Psychosis, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:30:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: Sequel to Such Bad BoysHaving committed 'bandicide', convicted murderer, Gerard, plots a way to finish what he started and kill Bob, but his already dead bandmates have discovered that it's much more fun to torture Gerard instead





	1. Gerard tries to convince people that he's crazy

“No!” the young man screamed, as he lay on the floor, thrashing wildly with both his arms and legs. “Get away from me!”

Scrambling to his feet, he pulled the mattress from the bunk across in front of him, throwing the pillow at the opposite wall.

“Hey, what’s with you?” a second, much older, heavy-set man, gripped his arms in an attempt to calm him down. Regretting it immediately, the older man was thrown off balance, pushed over the fallen mattress. As he let go of the young man’s arms, a clenched fist caught him across the jaw, sending him tumbling backwards. Landing half on the mattress and half on the floor, the man rolled towards his own bunk, getting to his feet, his eyes blazing with fury.

He watched with a combination of anger and disbelief as the young man backed himself protectively against the wall. His fingers clawed blindly at the table next to him, and each time his hand closed on an object, he hurled it with all his strength.

“Get away from me! You’re not real! You’re dead! Stop laughing! You’re dead! I saw you!”  
“Hey!” He called out angrily, nursing his bruised jaw as the younger man continued his frenzied attack on an invisible foe. “Will someone get the fuck down here before he kills himself, or I do it for him!”

As the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps came along the corridor, the young man sank to the floor, his knees curled up to his chest. Rocking slightly as he hugged his knees, he continued to mutter quietly to himself.

“You’re dead. It’s not real. You’re dead. You’re dead.”

“About time too!” the older man snapped as two prison guards unlocked the cell door. “He’s a psycho! I shouldn’t have to share a cell with this maniac!”  
“Yeah, all right Conners, calm down. Come on, out,” one of the guards demanded.  
“Me?” the surprised prisoner growled. “I’m going into solitary? He attacked me! You can…”  
“You’re going to the Doc, get that split lip seen to. Don’t worry, he’ll be gone by the time you’re fixed up,” the first guard laughed.  
“What’s so funny?” Conners snapped in return.  
“You, being afraid of him,” he snickered again. “Somehow he doesn’t look the type to inspire terror.”  
“I’m not afraid of him!” Conners countered as the cell door was locked once more. “But he shouldn’t be here, he’s a nut case!”  
“How sane do you have to be to kill your own brother and closest friends?” the officer commented dryly. “The psych guys’ll see him soon enough, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he was faking to get off Death Row.”  
“Well, if he is, he’s doing a damn good job of it,” Conners replied touching the tear in his lip with his tongue. “A little too convincing.”

*

“So, you went to see him?”  
“Yeah,” Bob drew his lips into a thin line as he stared off into the middle distance; the memory of visiting Gerard in prison still haunting him.  
“I take it, it didn’t go well?” the therapist asked quietly.

She knew inside that she didn’t really need to ask. Bob Bryar had clearly gone without any sleep and his eyes were bloodshot, from either lack of sleep, crying, or probably both. It had been six months since the kidnapping but Gerard had been sentenced only two weeks earlier. Lisa Brady knew that Bob had resisted going to a therapist for a long time, but with the trial approaching fast, he had succumbed. She knew he had once been a strong and confident man, but the whole experience had shaken him to the core and had taken its toll on him, both mentally and physically. She made a mental note that Bob had lost yet more weight and his clothes hung about him, shapeless and drab.

“It went exactly how I should have expected it to go,” he replied finally.  
“Tell me what happened,” she encouraged.

Bob sighed hopelessly and raised his eyes to the ceiling.

“I saw him at the trial,” he began, shaking his head. “Cold, remorseless; it just wasn’t him. Or… well, that’s what I told myself, anyway. When they showed the video of what he’d done to… oh, God…”

He paused, his brow furrowed, eyes staring intently at the floor. Balling his hands into fists, he trembled with anger and grief at the memory of it.

_“Your Honour, I would like to introduce item 3A into evidence at the moment. While I think it necessary that the jury watch this video, I should warn them that they are likely to be shocked and appalled by its content.”_   
_“Objection!” the defence lawyer rose to his feet._   
_“Grounds?” the judge asked sternly._   
_“Prosecution is leading the jury.”_   
_“Mister Davies, I have seen this video, as have you, and I can assure you, the content IS both shocking and appalling. It is fair to warn the Court. Objection overruled.”_   
_“Your Honour, with respect…”_

_The Judge turned a dark glance towards the defence counsel and his client._

_“What?” he growled._   
_“My client did not commit the crimes shown on the video, so…”_   
_“We are here to determine whether or not your client orchestrated the crimes. The video does include your client and is a vital piece of evidence to determine his guilt or innocence. Miss Williams, you may proceed.”_   
_“Thank you, Your Honour.”_

_Stepping out from behind the large desk as a wide screen television was wheeled into the courtroom and set up near he witness stand, Prosecution Counsel, Stephanie Williams addressed the jury._

_“The video you’re about to watch is terrifying and shocking. You will see the horrific deaths of Frank Iero and the defendant’s own brother, Mikey Way. In addition, you will see the attempted murder of Mister Bryar, who due to an oversight on Mister Way’s part, survived the ordeal.”_   
_“Objection, Your Honour!”_   
_“Sustained. Miss Williams, you are well aware that we are here to prove or disprove the defendant’s involvement. You may not state that as if it were a known fact. The jury will disregard that statement.”_   
_“Disregard!” Gerard hissed as he pulled at the jacket of his lawyer as he sat down once more. “They can’t pretend they didn’t hear that!”_   
_“Listen to me, Gerard,” the lawyer whispered in return as the video began to play. “With the case they’ve got against you, we’ll be damn lucky if we can just get you life, you carry on like this and you’ll be on Death Row in the blink of an eye. Now sit still, keep quiet and at least pretend you're sad! We’ll get you on the stand after this and try and get some doubt in their minds.”_   
_“What about, Bryar? Look at him! He’s a wreck. The jury’s lapping it up; they won’t believe me!”_   
_“If you carry on talking through the video, like you don’t give a damn, you might as well announce you did it and you’re proud of it!”_

“Bob,” Lisa interrupted his thoughts. “What was he like when you visited him?”  
“Smug, arrogant, conceited,” Bob looked towards her. “And more than a little crazy.”  
“In what way?”  
“He didn’t seem to understand that he’d done anything wrong. He seemed really angry that he’d been caught and he threatened me.”  
“Threatened you?”  
“Yeah, said he was going to get out and come after me.”  
“Are you worried about that?”  
“No, not really,” Bob sighed, “I mean, he’s in prison, it’s pretty secure. I don’t see him getting out. Besides, if he did, I’m not sure I’m the one who should be scared!”  
“You want to kill him?”

Bob frowned. It sounded like the sort of thing he should say, but was already shaking his head.

“What I really want to know how we missed it? How we could be so close with him and not see what he was really like. I think that’s what worries me more than anything. His own brother!” Bob’s voice cracked. “He buried him alive and watched him die! I mean, what kind of sick mind can do that? How did we miss it? How!”

Bob dropped his head into his hands as he grew increasingly agitated. His breathing coming in short gasps. It seemed to Lisa as though the session was effectively over, but there had been a significant breakthrough. This was the first time he had spoken outright about their deaths during therapy. It was the most he’d said at all.

*

“So, Mister Way.”

Doctor Simmons stared across at his patient, his hands securely cuffed to a thick leather belt fastened tightly around his waist and his feet chained close together allowing him only to shuffle into the room.  
It wasn’t the first time he had examined a prisoner on Death Row; it was actually quite common. Most saw faking insanity as a way out. Yes, if you managed it, you escaped death, but a life locked in a mental institution dosed up with Thorazine and in regular contact with people who suffered severe psychotic episodes was certainly no picnic.

“Take a seat.”

Gerard sat down opposite the desk behind which, Doctor Simmons silently regarded his patient. It was during these first few minutes that he got a feel for whether or not the man was faking. Generally, the prisoner would lose his temper and demand attention, or he would simply do something to act crazy. Gerard did neither of these things. He merely sat, his head ever so slightly tilted down so that his dark eyes rolled upwards to stare back, unblinking, focussed on a spot some three inches behind the doctor’s eyes. It was unnerving to watch as the doctor waited for any other reactions from the young man.  
What came next surprised him, as Gerard turned his eyes quickly to the left then back. By now they had widened significantly and he appeared deeply agitated.

“What is this?” he finally asked.  
“What do you mean, Gerard?” Doctor Simmons asked as he raised an eyebrow; if he was faking, he was certainly clever.  
“How is he here? He’s dead. I saw him!” Gerard looked down at his clenched fists refusing to look at either the doctor or the room’s other occupant.  
“We’re alone, Gerard,” the doctor assured him. “Who can you see?”  
“Oh, fuck you! You can’t do this to me! I’m not insane. He’s here! He’s sitting… right over there!” Gerard nodded with his head towards a low cabinet situated on the far wall.

The vehemence in his tone and the certainty in his eyes momentarily gave the doctor pause. Even though he knew beyond doubt that the only two occupants were himself and Gerard, Simmons turned his head to look in the general direction of the cabinet. As expected, the room was empty.

“There’s no one there, Gerard.”  
“How are… he… how…” Gerard glanced between Simmons and the figure he could clearly see, seated on the cabinet. With a scream of frustration, he pushed himself to his feet and, shuffling the couple of feet to the desk, he leaned over menacingly, despite his restraints. “He’s fucking right there! What’s the matter with you?”

Behind him, the door burst open revealing the two guards who had escorted him. Strong hands pulled back into his seat and he flopped back breathless and tense.  
Simmons waved to the guards that he was safe and wanted to continue the examination. Waiting until the door was closed again and a calm had once more descended upon the room, he asked his next question.

“Can you describe him?”  
“I can do better than that,” Gerard snapped. “I can give you his name.”  
“Go on,” he urged.  
“Ray Toro.”

Simmons frowned; the name was familiar. Glancing down at the open file on the desk, he noted the details listed for Ray Toro.

“Your guitarist?” he asked evenly.  
“Yeah, my… don’t wave! He can’t even see you, you clown-haired freak!”

Within a fraction of a second, Gerard was on his feet once more, but instead of advancing on the psychiatrist, he was facing the cabinet, his expression one of anger and irritation.

“What are you doing here? You trying to get me to kill you all over again, because, believe me, I will Toro, trust me! I killed you once! You stay dead!” Gerard’s pitch continued to rise as the tirade progressed. “Do you hear me? You stay dead!”  
“Gerard?”  
“What?” Gerard snapped; turning back to face Simmons with a look of impatience firmly fixed to his face. It appeared as though he had completely forgotten why he was there.  
“Why do you think he’s here?”  
“I don’t know,” he snapped in reply as he glanced back towards the cabinet. “To annoy me? Drive me nuts?”  
“Do you think you’re crazy?” Simmons asked quietly.  
“Excuse me?”

Gerard turned to look at the psychiatrist; the question had thrown him off balance. He appeared as though it was beginning to dawn on him that he was actually being evaluated and that if he were to be committed, everything he had done or said so far only seemed to confirm their suspicions.

“I’ve already been declared sane,” Gerard scowled at the presumption of the question. “The trial. I was supposedly sane then.”  
“You say _supposedly_. Why is that? Do you think they were wrong?”  
“What? No!” Gerard replied, aggrieved by the question. “There’s nothing wrong with my sanity! I knew exactly what I was doing then and I do now too!”  
“And yet, you’re seeing your dead friend?”

Gerard turned a glacial expression towards the doctor. So cold was the stare that he directed towards Simmons that it actually sent a chill down his spine.

“I’m seeing a dead guitarist,” he corrected.  
“Take a seat, Gerard,” Simmons motioned with his hand, suggesting that Gerard should return to the chair. “Why don’t you ask him why he’s here?” Simmons went on to suggest innocently.

Gerard frowned with contempt as he sat down once more. The idea was ridiculous. Why would he give credence to the idea that this was even remotely possible?

“Because it can’t be real,” he snapped, his tone exhibiting a very real sense of annoyance at the suggestion. “Do I seem like an idiot? I know what you want from me. You want me to make like I’m crazy.”  
“Why would I want that?”  
“I don’t know! Validate your existence, maybe? Or maybe it’s that you don’t like the unpleasant thought that I could do what I did and not be crazy!”  
“You said you were declared sane for the trial. Tell me about that.”  
“The declaration or the trial?” Gerard replied suspiciously.  
“Well, I’m going to assume that you were examined by two doctors, one for the defence and one for the prosecution. You must have been considered sane enough to stand trial and able to accept responsibility for your actions. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that there can’t be a revision of that judgement if more evidence comes to light.”  
“I’m not insane,” Gerard growled.  
“Tell me about the trial,” Simmons continued, glancing down at the file on his desk. “Tell me about when you took the stand.”

Gerard sat back in his chair and smirked.  
“What have you got written there? Some notes on my performance?”  
“Is that what it was? A performance?” Simmons asked, raising an eyebrow.  
“You know damn well it was,” Gerard scoffed at the question.  
“Well, tell me anyway.”  
Gerard shrugged indifferently. “I went up after the court was shown the video of the sweet, but truly insane, Marion Jacobs doing my dirty work.”  
“Marion Jacobs…” Simmons glanced at the file again.  
“You know Doc, you really ought to read up on your patients before they come to you. You’re making me feel very unimportant here.”  
“You don’t like that?”  
“Who would?”  
“How did you convince her to help you?”  
“I thought you wanted to hear about the trial?” Gerard frowned at the diversion.  
“Indulge me,” Simmons replied, leaning back in his comfortable high-backed chair.  
“Okay,” Gerard shrugged. “I met Marion at a comic book fair. She’d read the first Umbrella Academy series and… stop looking in that fucking file and just listen to me!”

Simmons’ head jerked up at the sudden and unexpected venom in Gerard’s tone. A very clear and definite picture of Gerard’s state of mind was forming and Simmons was doing all he could to corroborate or refute his assumptions.

“I am listening Gerard,” he confirmed quietly. “Go on.”  
Gerard sighed as he tried to get his train of thought back on track.  
“Okay, so she didn’t just read my comic book, she was obsessed with it, and me. Oh, yeah, she practically worshipped me. I don’t know, there was just something about her that told me that she was willing to do anything, if she thought it was right. You know?”  
“You thought she was weak-minded?” Simmons clarified.  
“I didn’t think it, she was,” Gerard replied gravely.  
“While you’re telling me this, what’s Ray doing?”

Gerard glanced to his left and back again with a slight laugh.

“He’s still sitting there. I guess he wants to know as much as you do.”  
“That makes sense.”  
“Don’t patronise me, Doc,” Gerard leaned forward slightly. “I know you don’t believe he’s here.”  
“I don’t see him, but I believe you do.”

Gerard leaned back in the seat once more as he thought about Simmons’ statement. It was condescending and superior, but he decided to let it go.

“Anyway, I met up with her alone, after the fair. It didn’t take long to realise that she was missing a few screws,” he laughed to emphasise his opinion of her sanity. “I told her that I wanted to leave the band, but the guys were blackmailing me, how they practically held me prisoner. I told her all about how they used their looks and fame to get what they wanted. That they had faked evidence against me in case I told anyone or tried to leave. I begged her to help me put an end to their bad ways. She lapped it up.”  
“Did you sleep with her?”  
“Of course not! I was the innocent one. The good and pure victim in a band of evil men, neck deep in sin and debauchery. And she fell for it; every last word. It wasn’t long before everything was arranged. I told her everything she needed to know and we planned it all in meticulous detail.”  
“And yet it all went wrong?”  
“It didn’t all go wrong!” Gerard snapped at the accusation.  
“Your voice was on the tape during your brother’s murder and her death, all recorded.”

Gerard pouted with annoyance.

“Yeah, well, neither of those things were supposed to happen! I’d asked her to film and record Mikey. I had no idea that she was recording herself too.”  
“You couldn’t watch your brother’s death, even though you planned it. Why do you think that was?”

Gerard glanced back over to where Ray was seated, swinging his legs casually and his hands gripping the edge of the cabinet with straight arms pushing his shoulders slightly forward.

“If you’re going to suggest that I couldn’t watch my own brother die, out of remorse or guilt, then think again, I watched it at the trial without flinching.”  
“Yes, I think that might have swung the jury against you.”  
“What? Really? You don’t say!” Gerard jeered. “Might it also have been that I was guilty as Hell?”  
“We never really did get to the bottom of why you did it.”  
“I just told you why!”  
“You’re saying that you believed all the things you told Marion Jacobs?”  
“Well… duh!”  
“What if I suggested to you that the evidence you claim you were being blackmailed with was a fiction created by your own paranoia?”

A wave of different emotions swept across Gerard’s face as he took a few minutes to wrestle with the information. It certainly wasn’t the first time it had been suggested; Bob had implied something very similar, but he had dismissed it as nonsense. Now, here was a psychiatrist saying almost the exact same thing. Was it a coincidence? Was it a test? Firmly convinced that the belief in the blackmail was too deeply fixed in his mind to be the result of paranoia, Gerard assumed the latter of the two options.

“I’d say you were the crazy one,” he finally replied.


	2. Coffee and Something For Frankie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bob has an interesting discussion with his therapist and Ray has some home truths for Gerard and a plan up his ghostly sleeve

“Bob?” Lisa began tentatively.  
“I’m sorry.”

The words were spoken automatically, but he silently cursed himself as the tremor in his voice gave away the depth of the emotion he so desperately wanted to hide. Rubbing his eyes self-consciously, Bob nodded as he made a concerted effort to pull himself together. Deep down, he knew that it was perfectly acceptable to show fears and troubles to a therapist. He also knew that it didn’t make him less of a man to cry and let his feelings out. But even knowing all these things, his own very guarded nature, refused to allow him to show what he saw as weakness. He had convinced himself that he should be able to cope. That statement was based on nothing but supposition and wishful thinking, but it was easier to accept than the admission that he couldn’t cope.

“I’m all right,” he finally replied, unconvincingly.  
“Don’t be sorry,” she said kindly. “It’s part of what I’m here for.”  
“It can’t be much of a job, watching a grown man cry.”

The second the words were out of his mouth, he jerked his head up sharply to look directly at her and struggled with his next words.

“I… I’m sorry! That came out all wrong! I didn’t mean… I mean… you do a great job. It just… it can’t be much fun for you.”

Bob physically sagged as he finally looked away from her; the silence between them making him feel awkward and foolish.

“You… you must think I’m pathetic.”  
“No, no, not at all,” Lisa leaned forward and gently placed her hand over his. “I know you probably don’t see it yourself, but the way you’re handling this is quite remarkable.”  
“Handling it?” Bob gasped. “I’m not handling this at all!”  
“Why do you think that?” she asked gently.

Bob directed a frown of disbelief towards his therapist. Was she serious? The expression on her face told him that she was but the seriousness with which she had asked the question made him consider it more than he had expected.

“For three months after it happened, I barely left my house. I kept all the doors and windows locked. I wouldn’t speak to anyone; not even family. People came to my door and I refused even to acknowledge them. Eventually I realised that I had survived.”  
“How did that make you feel?”  
“Don’t you think that’s a stupid thing to say? That it took me three months to realise I was alive?”  
“No,” Lisa shook her head lightly as she sat back once more. “I hear it more often than you’d think.”  
“Oh,” Bob nodded at the realisation that his reaction was a common one. “How did I feel? Guilty.”

Lisa nodded. It was a frequently told tale – survivor’s guilt.

“Tell me more about how you felt and what changed.”

Lisa pushed the questions, feeling that Bob was, at last, opening up like he never had before. His earlier breakdown would normally signal the end of the session, but here he was, recovered and speaking again. This was a major breakthrough.

“If I wanted to talk something through, I went to Ray, or maybe Mikey. Now, not only were my friends gone, but my life support, my future. And he was to blame. A man I thought was a friend. He… he just wanted to kill us. All that time, he was planning to kill us.”  
“If he was here, right now… sitting just over there. What would you say to him?”

Bob took a sudden deep breath and let it out slowly.

“I’m not there yet,” Bob frowned deeply so that his brow furrowed. “I’m still getting my head around it all. I can’t put anything like what I need to say into words. Not yet.”  
“You did really well, Bob,” spoke cheerfully with a gentle squeeze of his hand. “We covered a lot today.”  
“Hmm,” Bob gave a vague nod in reply.  
“I… I probably shouldn’t ask,” Lisa began hesitantly. “You’re my patient after all… but…”

Bob glanced up; the blank expression on his face giving her cause for concern over what his reaction might be.

“Would you like to get a coffee?”

Bob’s eyes widened slightly and he pulled back, slipping his hand out from beneath hers.

“I’m sorry… really, I’m sorry, I should never have…”  
“I… no…” Bob stammered, taken aback by the question. “I’d like that.”  
“Are you sure?” Lisa asked, still uncertain and embarrassed. “Don’t feel you have to.”  
“I don’t,” Bob smiled although an element of stress still showed in his eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it. It’s… erm… been a while.”

*

“Come in,” Simmons called as he heard a short rap on the door.

Even as the door opened and the crisp sound of leather soled shoes filled the room, Simmons continued to make and read the notes in the file spread out on the desk in front of him.

“So,” Adam Horley, the prison Warden, began with a slight note of irritation at being ignored in his tone. “What did you make of Way?”

Simmons turned his gaze upward to stare at the Warden who had fixed him with a questioning expression. The examination had been a strange one. He had thoroughly expected him to be faking insanity as so many did. And in some ways, he still gave that impression, but in others he seemed absolutely genuine. It was proving to be a much more interesting case than he had been presented with in a very long time.

“Well?” Horley prompted.  
“I don’t know,” he replied thoughtfully, leaning back in his chair. “I can’t be sure yet.”  
“I don’t pay you to be uncertain,” the warden snapped.  
“You don’t pay me at all,” Simmons frowned in return. “The government pays me, and they pay me to do my job properly. That’s exactly what I want to do.”  
“So where’s the doubt? He’s sane or he’s not.”  
“Correct,” Simmons snapped. “But the evaluation isn’t as simple as a check box. I’m going to need to keep him under surveillance in my clinic and meet with him again.”  
“No,” Horley shook his head slowly. “You can keep him under surveillance here and meet with him as often as you like, but he’s not leaving this prison. I don’t think you realise just how dangerous he is.”  
“Kidnapping, four murders and attempted murder; I think I have a fairly good impression of him,” Simmons responded with a raised eyebrow.  
“Good,” Horley nodded. “So we understand each other then?”

Doctor Simmons sighed irritably and closed the file.

“No, I don’t accept that you have the right environment here for adequate monitoring of his condition.”  
“Condition!” Horley snapped. “The little fuck’s faking!”  
“I’m not sure that he is,” Simmons shook his head.  
“Well, you might be taken in by him, but I’m not!” Horley snapped. “You can monitor him in solitary, that’s where he is now. We can fix it up with cameras and mics. You can hear and see everything, but he doesn’t leave this prison.”  
“Listen to me, Warden, you run a prison, I’m sure you do it well and I accept your expertise in that area. Me? I’m a psychiatrist and, like it or not, that makes me an expert in this field. I want Way transferred to my clinic so I can observe him properly.”  
“That ain’t gonna happen!” Horley snapped back.  
“On the contrary, it’s already happening. I spoke to Judge Peterson, it’s all arranged.”

Horley scowled with a glare of extreme irritation at the actions of the psychiatrist.

“You went over my head? Why doesn’t that surprise me?”  
“I’m well aware of your opinions on my profession, Horley,” Simmons drew himself up, placing his fingertips on the desk as he leaned forward. “And I know that you take great pleasure in seeing Death Row prisoners receive their sentence.”  
“That bastard killed four people, including his own brother! Yeah, I’d gladly send him to Hell!”  
“If he’s insane…”  
“Insane? Can you hear yourself? Anyone who does that is insane! But it doesn’t mean they’re not responsible!”  
“Granted,” Simmons nodded. “And it’s my job to assess whether he is or not.”  
“And the two guys before you that said he was? Were they incompetent?”  
“No, of course not! But you can’t tell in an hour, not conclusively. This is an interesting case.”  
“Interesting?” Horley scoffed. “”Well, you better make sure you keep him on a tight rein.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Simons asked gruffly.  
“This is a prison, we’re used to guys like him and we’re not taken in. Are your staff?”  
“My clinic has housed prisoners before, we’re not without experience.”  
“Well, I hope so, and not only for your sake. I’ll make the preparations, but I’ll keep his cell. Mark my words, he’ll be back in there.”

*

“Well,” Gerard sat back and leaned against the wall of the grim solitary confinement cell. “I think that went well, all things considered.”  
“You think so? Nah! They got you all figured out.”  
“Really?” Gerard replied flatly, unimpressed by the suggestion.  
“Yep! You’re not gonna fool anyone. You don’t really think you’ve convinced them, do you?”  
“Listen to me, Toro, I know exactly what I’m doing and you aren’t gonna make me doubt myself for a minute.”  
“You believe they think you’re crazy?”  
“Sure! What not? I was pretty convincing.”

Ray laughed for a few moments.

“Of course you were convincing! You haven’t got it yet, have you? You ARE crazy! The only one who doesn’t know it yet, is you!”

 

*

“So,” Bob stirred his coffee slowly as he tried to think of how to phrase his next question. “I take it from the distance we travelled from your office, that you could get into a lot of trouble for this?”

Lisa looked up. At first she was surprised, but her expression soon melted into a smile. Despite all the turmoil going on in his life, Bob still took the time to notice the details and think about someone else’s situation. On reflection, she should have realised that he would be able to do that. To Bob, appearing normal was his primary concern. He could release his fears and anguish in the privacy of her office, but outside, to all intents and purposes, he was Bob Bryar; no nonsense, yet thoughtful, caring and, she almost blushed at the thought, handsome.

“I like that you can compartmentalise, it’s a good coping technique.”

Bob smiled as genuinely as he could; it was, he realised with a degree of surprise, important to him that his next words were taken kindly.

“I glad you know what I’m doing, but given that you know, I’m sure you realise that outside your office, I can’t be that guy. I really can’t discuss it… not here.”  
“Yeah,” she nodded apologetically. “I know. I’m sorry. You see, I’ve already crossed one line and I think I’m pretending that if I talk about work, that the line is actually still there.”  
“You will get into trouble, won’t you?”  
“Well,” she hesitated as she collected her thoughts. “Technically, it’s considered malpractice. If I were my own boss… no not even then. I work as part of a team of therapists at a private practice run by a very respected man in the industry. If he knew, there would be no way I would be allowed to stay and bring the Practice into disrepute.”  
“So, that’s a big yes?”  
“Yeah,” Lisa sighed. “I would, yes, but only if they catch me,” she added with a mischievous glint in her eye.

Normally, Bob would laugh at the comment, but he found himself instead taking a deep breath. There were so many things he wanted to ask but didn’t know where to begin. He didn’t want to sound foolish or naïve, neither did he want to seem forward. There were so many unknowns. Was this a date? Was she interested in him? If she wasn’t it seemed unlikely that she would risk her job, but what if it was just a way to talk to him in a more relaxed atmosphere? But she had told him that she was as good as fired if they were even seen together. Then, of course, she had put her hand over his, but was that just a kind gesture?

_Damn it, Bryar! Pull yourself together! She’s looking at you! Say something, for God’s sake!_

“Should I find another therapist?” he asked tentatively.

Saying nothing, Lisa drew her bottom lip between her teeth. To Bob she looked so innocent, so vulnerable. So much so, it almost made him feel strong again. In his peripheral vision, he noticed that she had extended her fingers towards his hand, but seemed reluctant to take the next step and physically move it closer. Despite his earlier uncertainties and insecurities, there was now very little doubt in his mind that she liked him; enough to risk her position at the clinic. Despite everything he had shared with her over the last few months, he was relieved and pleased to find that she hadn’t thought him weak or pathetic. She had made him feel at ease and protected at a time when he felt the trauma of recent events was crushing him. Slowly, he edged his hand closer to hers, lightly brushing her fingertips before enclosing her slender hand in his.

“We can’t do both,” he smiled, “and I’d rather do this.”

*

“Crazy? I’m crazy?” Gerard pointed at himself and laughed at the idea. “No, I don’t think so!”  
“Okay,” Ray shrugged indifferently. “So how do you account for me?”  
“I don’t have to account for you! I didn’t ask you to be here!”

Ray paced the room, his brow knitted as if mulling something over. Half way across the cell, he turned slowly and cocked his head to one side as he looked at Gerard, still slumped on the bunk and leaning back against the wall.

“You don’t think you could be creating me, then?” he questioned.

Gerard exhaled noisily and sneered in response.

“Trust me, Toro, if I wanted to see someone in here with me, the last person it would be, is you!”

Ray laughed with genuine amusement. Gerard’s replies suggested to him that he was irritated and frustrated by Ray’s very presence. Ray allowed a satisfied grin to spread across his face before his expression darkened into one of deep contempt.

“Actually, the last person you want in here with you is Frank.”  
“Frank?” he replied with the hint of a mocking laugh in his tone. To him the idea was ridiculous; what could Frank possibly have done to him? Even alive, he would barely consider him a threat, but now? Unimpressed by the statement, Gerard almost spat out his next words with scornful disregard. “And why is that?”

Ray was growing tired of Gerard’s sheer arrogance. The more he heard it, the more his demeanour wanted to change. He knew that his upbeat taunting and disrespect towards Gerard upset him greatly and it was something that he sincerely wanted to continue. If Gerard managed to make him lose his temper, then he won and Ray was not about to let that happen.

“Why? Because he’d probably kill you,” Ray explained in a casual and matter-of-fact tone.  
“Is that so?” Gerard scoffed. “Kill me? A ghost, or whatever the hell you are! If you could kill me, then why haven’t you? I’ll tell you why! Because you can’t! It’s an empty threat. And you’d have reason too. I had you killed too, you know.”  
“I know,” Ray smiled thinly. “But I much prefer to make you suffer this way.”  
“You think I’m suffering?” Gerard laughed again. “You’re wasting your time, Toro. I’m not suffering at all,” he crowed.

Ray leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms as he stared thoughtfully and silently at Gerard for several minutes.

“What? What now!” Gerard yelled, pushing himself to his feet as the waiting became too much for him. Standing in an aggressive pose, Gerard stared angrily at the smirking guitarist.  
“Yeah,” Ray nodded with a satisfied smile. “I’d say you were suffering. I’m wearing you down, Gerard and at every opportunity I get to humiliate you, I’m gonna point and laugh! Your whole sense of self worth is massively inflated and I’m going to take great pleasure in bursting your bubble.”  
“You know what, Toro,” Gerard growled. “You’re not gonna get the chance.”

Breaking into a short sprint, and lowering his shoulder, Gerard ploughed sidelong into Ray, throwing all his weight behind the vicious body blow. A loud sickening, bone-cracking thud resonated around the small room and a dull cry of pain and self-pity followed.

Crumpling to the floor, Gerard whimpered and gasped in agony as he clutched at his upper arm; the excruciating pain washing over him in hot waves. His dislocated shoulder sent violent shooting pains into his neck and back at even the slightest of movements. Blood poured from a small but deep gash; the warm viscous liquid oozing over his fingers as he gripped his arm. He groaned unhappily as the room spun and moved in and out of focus. Concussed from the sharp blow as hit head hit the wall, he found himself too dazed to react to the situation. Lying on the floor, barely conscious, bruised, bloodied and in desperate need of medical attention, Gerard became vaguely aware of the sound of Ray’s laughter ringing loudly in his ears.

“Is now a good time to tell you that you can’t actually touch me?” Ray choked out, apparently gasping for air and helpless with laughter.

Overcome by the searing pain and blood loss, Gerard slipped into unconsciousness. Gazing down at the limp form at his feet, Ray’s laughter faded into a contemptuous sneer; amusement and loathing jostling for position on his face.

“That’s for Frankie.”


	3. Welcome to your own personal nightmare, Gerard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard gets a new visitor and we see another trial flashback

“Warden Horley,” the guard said as he opened the door to Simmons’ office without knocking.  
“We’re in the middle of a confidential…” Horley began, his eyes blazing. Already furious from the discussion he was having with the psychiatrist, he was in no mood to suffer insubordination from one of his junior guards.  
“I’m sorry, Sir,” he interrupted. “There’s been an incident.”

The disagreement with Simmons forgotten in an instant, Horley turned his attention to the guard.

“What is it?” he replied, his voice clipped and efficient.  
“It’s Way, Sir, he’s badly hurt. It looks as though he’s been beaten up.”  
“How?” Horley asked, a profoundly puzzled expression adorning his face. “He’s in solitary.”  
“I don’t know, Sir. We just found him; he’s unconscious.”

Horley sighed irritably; this he could do without.

“Have you called the doctor?”  
“Yes, Sir, he’s with him now,” the guard confirmed. “An ambulance is on its way. The doctor said his shoulder was cut and dislocated and he took a nasty blow to his head too.”

Horley shook his head. “I want to know who got in there to do that and I want them in my office within the hour!”  
“Sir,” the guard replied as he turned to leave.

Horley turned an angry scowl towards Simmons.

“Are you certain you can deal with this?” he asked sarcastically.  
“Probably better than you think,” Simmons replied evenly. “If my assumption is right, you won’t find any evidence of anyone going anywhere near that cell.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Horley snapped, infuriated by Simmons knowing expression.  
“Way was seeing one of the men he killed, when he was in my office.”  
“Yeah, sure he was!” Horley jeered.  
“I know you don’t believe he’s disturbed, but…”  
“No, Doctor Simmons, that’s where you’re wrong. I absolutely believe that Way is disturbed, crazy, insane… whatever you want to call him. But I know that he knows that what he did was wrong, but he did it anyway. He’s totally able to accept responsibility for his actions and he belongs on Death Row!”  
“He’s seeing his guitarist, I believe that without question. And despite what you think, yes, I’m inclined to believe that he knew what he was doing. But I do want to investigate this further.”  
“Research?” Horley frowned. “You’re taking Way off Death Row and the punishment he deserves, for research?”  
“No, not research. Like I said there are some very unusual aspects to this case and I need to study his paranoia and motives closely to get the answers I need. If he really deserves his sentence, then he’ll still get it. You won’t necessarily be denied, Warden.”  
“Like I said, I’m holding his cell. He’ll be back.”

*

“Do you need to get back to the office?” Bob asked glancing briefly at the clock on the wall of the busy coffee shop.  
“Well…” Lisa blushed and concentrated her stare on her almost empty mug.

At first concerned at the hesitation, Bob soon noticed the flush in her cheeks as she looked anywhere but at him.

“What?” he finally asked, a hint of a laugh colouring his tone.

Lisa looked up, still her eyes unable to meet his for longer than a few seconds.

“Come on, out with it,” he smiled, gently raising her chin with a finger so that she looked directly at him.  
“I don’t have any appointments this afternoon. I… I kept it free… just in case.”

Bob’s smile widened. It was the first time she’d seen him truly relaxed and appearing genuinely happy.

“So, how long have you been planning this?”  
“Well, I… I wouldn’t say planning. Maybe hoping?” she replied shyly.  
“And?”  
“The moment I saw your eyes.”

Bob laughed, suddenly, but not unkindly. It was a surprised, but gentle laugh, bubbling under with unassuming reserve.

“Quite a while then! I had no idea,” he admitted. “No idea at all.”  
“Well, I’m actually glad about that, it means I was acting professionally. Well, up until now, anyway. I’m sorry Bob, I’ve ruined your therapy; you were doing so well too.”  
“How have you ruined it? I’ll just find a new therapist. Maybe you can recommend one?” Bob replied, nodding to emphasise that he believed it would all work out.  
“But today, you really opened up, like you never have before. You may go back a few steps with a new therapist.”  
“Well, it’s possible, or it could just be that I’m ready to talk now. It took me a while to build up that much trust…”  
“And you’ll have to do it all over again.”  
“Yes, maybe?” he nodded, reaching for her hands and taking them in his gently. “But if you recommend someone, someone you know will understand, then I’ll be okay. I’ll trust them, because you do. I’ll be fine, really.”  
“You’re really quite strong, aren’t you?” Lisa smiled in admiration.

Bob shrugged; it felt like a difficult question to answer.

“Part of me is, part of me isn’t. I guess you’ve only seen the part that isn’t so far.”

Lisa lifted Bob’s hands to her mouth and kissed them both before shaking her head in absolute certainty of her disagreement.

“No, I told you that you were handling it astonishingly well. I meant it. You are strong.”

Bob stared thoughtfully at his hands, still in hers.

“Well, that’s someone else’s problem now, eh?”  
“I’m not going to stop caring about you just because I’m not your therapist any more,” Lisa replied with mock indignance.

Bob cocked his head to one side and raised an eyebrow at her.

“I like that,” he smiled broadly, “but you have to stop analysing or you’ll get into trouble.”  
“I’ll call a friend of mine; he’s in a different practice. He has a lot of experience with violent crime trauma. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to take over.”  
“What?” Bob teased. “Not already arranged?”  
“Don’t!” Lisa shook her head with embarrassment. “This was difficult enough!”  
“Then let’s make it easier.” Bob leaned forward and gently brushed her lips with his in a tender kiss. “Come on, it’s a beautiful afternoon, let’s enjoy it.”

*

Gerard groaned softly as the pain flooded his body and the bright light hurt his eyes. He was lying down. It would almost certainly have been comfortable but for the grinding pain in his arm, chest, back and, above all, his head that almost brought him to a state of violent nausea. As he lay, he was remotely aware of his right arm being strapped across his chest in, what felt like, a sling. He didn’t try to move, he didn’t want to move, it hurt too much.

“Doctor,” he heard the sound of a man’s voice nearby. “He’s waking up.”

Gerard’s eyes fluttered open at the statement. Slowly adjusting to the light, he continued to squint as he looked up drowsily.

“Where am I?” he asked finally.  
“Parkview Psychiatric Hospital.”

The voice belonged to a man in his late fifties of stocky build and greying hair. Approaching the bed, he introduced himself.

“My name’s Doctor Willis, I’m going to ask you a few questions,” the doctor asked, holding up a clipboard. “Name?”  
“I don’t remember,” Gerard replied quietly.  
“Name!” the doctor snapped. “I’m not above dosing you with sodium pentothal, you know.”  
“Gerard Way.”  
“Better! Now, what happened in that cell? Did someone attack you?”

Gerard rolled his eyes. He felt certain that they both knew that he hadn’t been attacked; no one had been near the cell. It was unthinkable to him that he would admit that Ray Toro had tricked him; he had a reputation to uphold and being tricked into attacking a ghost did nothing for his ego or status.

“I fell.”  
“You fell?” the doctor replied, unconvinced by the reply.  
“Yeah, why is that so hard to believe?” Gerard closed his eyes; it was so hard to concentrate. “Can I have some painkillers? I feel like someone tried to crack my skull open.”  
“Someone did! I want to know who!”

Gerard sagged as his request for pain relief went ignored.

“No one did. I fell. Look, even some Tylenol, anything!”  
“Tell them what _really_ happened,” a cheery voice piped up from across the room.

Gerard groaned at the sound of Ray Toro’s voice mocking him. Having not seen or heard from him since waking, Gerard had been hopeful that he’d seen the last of his irritating ex-guitarist. Tricking Gerard into attacking him, only for the former singer to run straight through and collide at speed and with great force with the wall had been painful enough without him returning to gloat.

“What are you still doing here? You got what you wanted.”  
“What do you mean?” Willis asked, puzzled by the statement.  
“I’m not talking to you,” Gerard snapped, sighing unhappily as his headache grew steadily worse.  
“I brought someone to see you,” Ray answered, still obscured by the doctor and nurse.  
“I’m not interested!” Gerard growled, his eyes half closed as the bright lights above bore into him.  
“Who are you talking to?” Willis prompted.

Gerard closed his eyes fully and sighed deeply.

“Look, I’m in a lot of pain here without even so much as a Tylenol and you’re expecting me to have two conversations?”  
“Three if you include me?”  
“Iero? Fuck! That’s it! That’s enough! I want painkillers and I want you to get those two jokers out of here! Do you understand? Leave me the fuck alone!”  
“You know, Ray told me that this would be fun. I gotta tell you, I didn’t believe him, not after what you did. I didn’t want to even look at you! But now? I can totally see what he meant, and this really is fun. Are you having fun too, Gerard?”  
“Get out! Get the fuck out! Leave me alone!”  
“Give him fifty milligrams of Thorazine,” Willis ordered.

Gerard’s eyes widened as the nurse raised a syringe and drew in a clear liquid from a small bottle.

“No!” he shouted, terrified, only now realising that his left hand and ankles were secured with thick straps holding him securely to the bed frame.

From the other side of the room, Gerard heard footsteps approaching the bed, but he didn’t care. Only one thing had his attention, and that was the syringe held by the nurse. Breaking into a cold sweat and rapidly paling, Gerard visibly shook, appearing on the verge of passing out as the nurse approached.

“Well, Gerard, you can't complain. You wanted this,” Frank grinned at him from the foot of the bed.

Gerard turned his head, wide-eyed, toward the foot of the bed and gaped, mouth open, as the pair merely laughed at him.

“You wanted to get off Death Row and into hospital,” Frank continued. “Did it not occur to you, even once, that here it would be one injection after another?”

Gerard turned back as the nurse grabbed his forearm and jabbed the needle into the flesh before depressing the plunger.

“No! No, no! This isn’t… I… I’m not crazy,” Gerard announced, hoping in vain that it would make a difference.  
“You’re hearing voices…” Willis began.  
“No! No, I’m not. They’re here; they’re really here. Right now, two of them. They’re trying to drive me crazy, so you’ll think I need help. But I don’t. Don’t you see? They’re really here. I’m not imagining this!”  
“Yeah,” Frank grinned. “That ought to have convinced them!”

Gerard’s agitation began to dull, his thought processes becoming slow; the mind’s equivalent of swimming through treacle. Resting his head back on the pillow, his struggles and frantic movements dwindling completely.  
“The Thorazine seems to be working, doctor,” the nurse commented on Gerard’s enforced relaxed state. “What do you think of his condition?”  
“Hmm,” Willis took a deep breath and stared at Gerard thoughtfully. “Delusional, hallucinating; possibly schizophrenic or some sort of psychosis. We’ll know soon enough.”

Both doctor and nurse exited the room leaving Gerard restrained and subdued on the bed. Looking up at his two ghostly visitors, Gerard could only stare; all the fight in him suppressed by the high dose of the antipsychotic drug.

“Lethal injection’s too good for you,” Ray smirked. “This is much more appropriate. Welcome to your own personal nightmare, Gerard.”

*

Gerard stared up at his two visitors, blinking slowly twice, he succumbed further to the drug coursing through his veins.

“Okay, you got your revenge,” he slurred, “why are you still here?”  
“No, no, no,” Ray laughed as he shook his head. “You mean your shoulder? That was for Frank. Just Frank.”  
“Yeah,” Frank added, perching on the edge of the bed, jarring Gerard’s shoulder as he sat down. “And I’m going to return the favour and get revenge for Ray.”  
“This isn’t enough?” Gerard uttered miserably. “I’m in a psychiatric hospital. They think I’m crazy.”  
“You are crazy,” Ray replied with a look of puzzlement on his face. “Haven’t we been through this already?”  
“I was pretending,” Gerard insisted. “To get off Death Row. I thought…”  
“Let me guess,” Frank interrupted. “You thought that if they believed you were crazy, they’d take you to a hospital. Thinking there would be less security you’d miraculously escape, go after Bob and then maybe finish the job?”

Gerard tried to shrug but regretted it instantly as a dull but debilitating pain almost took his breath away.

“Can you blame me?” he replied dismissively.

Frank and Ray glanced briefly at each other in disbelief before turning back and replying in unison.

“Yes!”

Gerard frowned with what would have been anger if the Thorazine hadn’t been dulling his reactions.

“I see,” he replied with a low bitter growl to his voice. “You can blackmail me, hold me prisoner, beat me and basically treat me like dirt, but if I fight back, I deserve to suffer for the rest of my life?”

Frank narrowed his eyes as he listened to what he knew was a pack of lies. To his mind, it was bad enough that Gerard had tried to convince the jury that they had mentally and physically abused him, but to try to continue the lie with the people who knew better than anyone how he had mercilessly planned to torture and murder them all for no reason was quite simply an atrocity.

“You’re forgetting where you are, Gerard. You’re not on trial now, your lies won’t work with us,” Frank replied evenly, but with a bitter and angry undertone.  
“Well,” Gerard gave a lazy laugh. “They didn’t exactly work at the trial.”  
“You may be whacked up with Thorazine, but you’re still being careful with your words, aren’t you?” Ray commented.  
“Sticking with your story in case there’s an appeal?” Frank asked. “You think they’re listening?”  
“I know they are,” Gerard curled his lips into a crooked smirk. “And there will be an appeal, and when I’m found innocent…”  
“You’ll be right back here.”  
“No,” Gerard shook his head and offered an arrogant smile. “I won’t, not here.”  
“You devious bastard!” Ray cried as Gerard’s plan began to make sense. “You think you can convince them you’re innocent, but crazy and they’ll send you to a regular psychiatric hospital?”  
“This hospital’s for the criminally insane, I don’t belong here,” Gerard replied for the sake of hidden microphones.  
“Yes you fucking do!” Frank snapped, suddenly furious at the thought that Gerard may actually escape justice.  
“I admit that I have a problem… and I need help, I know. And I admitted being guilty just to get out of that hellish prison and get the treatment I needed. I thought they’d think I was faking if I claimed innocence too. But I am innocent! Just because they never found those blackmail tapes, it doesn’t mean they don’t exist!” Gerard continued acting the part of innocent man, wrongly accused.  
“They never did, you bastard! We never did anything like what you said at the trial!” Frank yelled.  
“You’re acting! Just like you did at the trial!” Ray added.

Gerard cocked his head to one side and stared at them, puzzled by Frank’s last statement.

“How do you know what went on at the trial?”  
“We were there,” Frank replied quietly.  
“I didn’t see you,” Gerard replied dismissively.  
“We weren’t there for you, we were there for Bob.”  
“Oh, how sweet, the thought of you holding hands and looking after your little friend. All against me in life and in death!”  
“Drop the act, Gerard! I’m sick of it!”  
“You’re not as good at this revenge thing as you think you are,” Gerard laughed sleepily, “I’m upsetting you more than you are me. And you weren’t very good at looking after Bryar either, judging by the state of him during the trial!”

_“Your Honour, I’d like to call the defendant, Gerard Arthur Way to the stand.”_

_No one could see them, not even Gerard, but they were there. Frank and Ray sat near Bob, willing him their support and strength to get through the nightmarish ordeal that lay ahead of him._

_Gerard’s defence was strange to say the least. He had been certified as sane by two independent psychiatrists, leaving his last and only resort as a plea of diminished responsibility due to temporary insanity. He knew it would be a difficult case to prove. They were famous, loved by millions and he had killed them; desperation born of years of blackmail and mistreatment would be difficult to prove, especially without the evidence of the tapes they were supposedly using against him._

_Years of being on stage, projecting a different persona to the world gave Gerard the ability he needed to do something similar now. He would play the innocent, distraught party; forced into an act of desperation by constant blackmail, threats and mistreatment by his fellow band members. Sworn in, Gerard adopted a nervous and deeply unhappy expression and manner and waited patiently as the defence attorney approached the stand._

_“Gerard, do you understand why you’re here?”_   
_“Yes,” he replied shakily. “I… I do, but it’s not that straightforward. I…”_   
_“We’re here to prove your innocence, Gerard. Just take a couple of deep breaths.”_

_Bob leaned across to the prosecution attorney, Stephanie Williams._

_“He’s lying! And acting! What if they go for this?”_   
_“Don’t worry, Bob. This case is cut and dried, a formality. The only real question is will he get life or death.”_

_Bob slumped back in his seat. As much as he wanted to glare angrily and proclaim Gerard’s lies to the court, he found himself unable even to raise his eyes from his hands. To his mind, the jury would perceive his inability to even look Gerard in the face as a sign of guilt. But as much as he wanted to prove otherwise, he couldn’t look up, he just couldn’t._

_“Gerard, tell me about your life with the band.”_   
_“What do you want to know?” Gerard asked quietly._   
_“Tell me about the drinking.”_

_Gerard nodded before taking a deep breath._

_“The constant pressure of touring was taking its toll on me and I started drinking, but I didn’t stop. Every day to me was a drunken haze. Things were going well for the band, we were more popular than ever, so we toured more and I drank more. I had to be flamboyant on stage. I’m actually quite shy and the drinking helped.”_   
_“But you stopped?”_   
_“Yeah, they didn’t like me drinking.”_   
_“They?”_   
_“The rest of the band, they wanted me to stop. They said it would destroy the band if I continued. And I accept that they were probably right, but I was drunk then and I couldn’t see it.”_   
_“So they took a different approach?”_   
_“Objection! Counsel is leading the witness,” Williams interrupted._   
_“Sustained,” Judge Peterson replied. Mister Davies, you will rephrase your question.”_   
_“I apologise, Your Honour. Gerard, what convinced you to stop you drinking?”_

_Gerard looked down, as though unwilling to speak. Nodding slightly he looked up once more._

_“One day after performance, I woke up in my bunk on the tour bus and I was tied up.”_   
_“Tied up? Were you scared?”_

_Gerard nodded enthusiastically._

_“I thought we’d been kidnapped or something. At first, I was too scared to say anything, but then I heard voices. I heard Frank…”_   
_“That’s Frank Iero? One of your guitarists?”_   
_“Yeah,” he nodded. “I heard him talking and laughing with Mikey, my brother. I knew from the way they talked that they weren’t in the same situation as me, so I called out. I thought it was a joke at first, I asked them to untie me, but they wouldn’t. They said they wanted me sober to see the recordings they’d made.”_   
_“Did you see the recordings?”_

_Gerard nodded. “They showed someone attacking a guy and another of… attacking a woman.”_   
_“You say ‘someone’.”_   
_“They said it was me, I didn’t remember…”_   
_“Did it look like you?”_   
_Gerard shrugged and shook his head. “It was fuzzy, and in the distance, I couldn’t be sure. The video was time dated and they said they’d all swear that I wasn’t with them at the time of the attacks.”_   
_“Who took the video?”_   
_“I don’t know, they said, if asked, they’d say someone sent it to them so they weren’t involved. They said I’d have to sober up or they were going to the police.”_   
_“So you sobered up?”_

_Gerard nodded silently._

_“Did things improve?”_   
_“No. I said I wanted to leave the band, but they wouldn’t let me. They kept me locked up in the tour bus, threatened me with the videos. They would get drunk and the four of them would beat me when they got back to the bus.”_   
_“That’s a lie!” Bob yelled, slamming his hand down on the table as he stood. “It’s all a pack of lies! We …”_   
_“Mister Bryar, you will sit down and remain silent,” the judge shouted._   
_“But he’s lying!”_   
_“Sit down, Mister Bryar!”_   
_“Bob!” Stephanie Williams, his attorney gripped his arms and gently shook them to get his attention. “Bob, it’ll be over soon. Just stay calm and sit down.”_   
_“Over? You think this’ll ever be over for me?”_

_Williams closed her eyes and nodded sympathetically._

_“Please, Bob, just sit down. Please?”_   
_“If you can’t control your client, he’ll be removed from the court.”_   
_“I’m sorry, Your Honour, it won’t happen again.”_

_Bob flopped back into his seat allowing tears to roll unashamedly down his cheeks. Lost in a world of his own grief, it was unlikely that Bob heard the rest of Gerard’s testimony. Behind him, Frank and Ray vowed revenge._


	4. And that was for Ray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets revenge for Ray and Bob has some fun

One by one, the old-fashioned style lamps that lined the park’s paths flickered on. The once ordinary park was suddenly somehow transformed into something much more magical; a romantic hazily lit grotto that seemed to offer more than peaceful surroundings. Taking a seat on a bench overlooking the small lake, Bob and Lisa leaned back and silently watched the first of the stars to appear in the early evening sky.

“Thank you,” Bob smiled as he took her hand in his.  
“What for?” Lisa asked, turning her eyes towards him only to see him still gazing skyward.  
“For today,” he began, still keeping his eyes fixed on a distant star. “I can’t remember the last time I actually enjoyed an afternoon. I’ve barely even thought about…” Bob’s gazed dropped slowly, his eyes now staring intently down. “Well, you know.”  
“I had a good time too,” Lisa replied snuggling closer as the dusk air grew chill.

Instinctively, Bob placed a protective arm around the woman at his side, drawing her closer to share his warmth. Remaining silent for a few minutes, merely enjoying each other’s closeness, Bob finally turned his head and placed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. Sighing happily at the affectionate gesture, Lisa looked up and smiled. Finding herself lost in the beautiful blue eyes she had long since fallen for, she barely noticed Bob moving closer until finally their lips met. At first, they barely brushed against each other; tender, inviting and above all exciting. Drawn in, Lisa pressed her lips firmly against his as she reached up and caressed the nape of his neck. Emboldened by her reaction, Bob’s passion grew, almost taking him by surprise. Reaching around her waist, he pulled her close, their lips parting as he pressed himself against her willing body. It was something he had not expected, but was more than happy to pursue. Parting his lips, he ran his tongue across her lower lip, almost begging for entrance. The tingling sensation caused her to gasp in anticipation, welcoming him into her mouth with a barely audible sigh of pleasure.

Lightly stroking his neck, Lisa allowed her fingers to trace a line across his shoulders before pausing as they outlined the definition of his upper arms; the result of years of drumming. Her passion heightened as his shirt pulled tight across the flexed muscle and she felt almost compelled to pull him closer, so close as to be able to feel his heart beating rapidly against her chest.  
Opening her eyes, she gazed up once more into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. Slowly pulling back, she eased out of the kiss slowly, almost teasingly. Running her fingers through his soft blond hair, she once again tugged nervously on her lower lip.

“I live quite near here…” she began, suddenly nervous and uncertain. “If you… erm… wanted to do that some more.”  
“Lisa…” Bob almost sighed her name as he brushed a few strands of hair from her face.  
“I’m… I’m not very good at this,” she admitted, blushing vividly.

Bob smiled at the beautiful and unexpectedly shy woman in his arms.

“You’re much better than you think,” he replied, cupping her cheek, before adding with a grin: “Let’s go; do that some more.”

*

Gerard looked up, almost becoming used to the sensation the drug had imposed on him, he stared at the two guitarists still at the foot of his bed.

“So, you came back to haunt me?” he finally asked.  
“Something like that,” Frank admitted.  
“Something?” Gerard shook his head, unimpressed by the reply. “Do you even know?”

Frank narrowed his eyes; he was tired of Gerard’s arrogance. Holding his temper was something he did in life, but this man had murdered him and he was in no mood to hold back.

“Revenge, Gerard! Remember that idea you were always so keen on? Well now it’s back to bite you, because it’s our turn!”  
“You and him?” Appearing unimpressed, Gerard nodded vaguely in Ray’s direction.  
“Yeah, why? Are we not good enough for you?”

Gerard offered up a mocking laugh. “You really are so easily upset, Frank, do you honestly think you can do anything to me? You’re supposed to be getting revenge and, well, I don’t see it.”  
“I’ve got time on my side, Gerard, it’s not like you can do anything to me, is it?”  
“Do anything to you?” Gerard laughed cruelly. “I’ve already done it! Is your memory so short? Spiders ring any bells?”  
“Yeah,” Frank replied quietly. “I remember. And I remember being worried about you. All that time I was trying to get free of those chains; I was worried about you all. I had no idea that… that…” Frank paused, the words appearing to catch in his throat.  
“What?” Gerard sneered. “You had no idea that I was behind it? Go on, you can say it! I had to say the same thing to Bryar when he visited me; he couldn’t get the words out either. You’re a loser, Iero!”  
“Am I? And what does that make you?”  
“Me? I’m a winner! Do I look dead to you?”  
“A winner?” Frank’s expression dissolved into pure hatred. “Is that what you think you are? You killed us! You murdered your own brother!”  
“Of course I did! Do you really think I could have achieved what I wanted without killing him? All of you!”

Frank’s mouth dropped open at the cruel statement he had not expected to hear.

“And where is dear Mikey?” Gerard continued. “I mean, if I expected to see anyone back for revenge, I expected him. Where is he, I wonder? Scared? Poor, poor Mikey! Too upset to face me?”  
“And why would he be?” Frank scoffed. “Why should he be afraid of you?”  
“You can’t seriously be that naïve!”  
“And exactly how am I naïve?” Frank asked, willing Gerard to answer the question.  
“He was never strong, this would have just about broken him.” Gerard shook his head dismissively. “Surely you know that as well as I do?”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”  
“Burying him alive! That’s what I’m talking about! I’m his big brother, he trusted me!” Gerard laughed harshly at the idea. “What a loser! You’re all losers! You all believed that you could trust me and I totally abused that trust. Why? Because I could, because I wanted to.”  
“You were a coward getting someone else to do it all for you!”  
“No, I’m not a coward. I was clever,” Gerard replied with a small shake of his head, appearing almost surprised that he had to make the point.  
“Clever? You failed!” Frank spat in a contemptuous tone.  
“ _I_ didn’t fail! I had it all planned out,” Gerard spat through gritted teeth. “She screwed it up, not me! She let Bryar live! I didn’t plan that! I wanted you all dead. If she’d done what I asked her to, this would never have happened. You’d all be gone. She’d be dead and I’d be claiming self-defence. That’s what was supposed to happen! She fucked up, not me!”

Frank’s mouth lengthened into a broad smile.

“Ah, but you did, Gerard. You just fucked up, big time.”  
“What?” Gerard snapped. “What are you talking about? What do you mean?”  
“You just couldn’t help it could you? You just had to prove how brilliant you are, how controlled.”  
“Get to the point, Iero!” Gerard snapped, a nervous edge to his tone.  
“You don’t know?” he laughed. “You just gave a full confession, admitting everything. Not just what you did, but that you were completely aware of what you were doing all along. You won't get granted an appeal! You're here forever - a lifetime of long needles and anti-psychotics!”  
“What?” Gerard’s heart plummeted before bouncing back high into his mouth. “No! No! You tricked me! I didn’t mean it!”  
“It’s too late, Gerard, the damage is done and, just like the last time, it’s all on tape.”

Gerard strained on the straps holding him to the bed as the two guitarists laughed at him from the foot of the bed.

“Stop it! Stop laughing!” he yelled furiously. “You can’t do this to me! I killed you! You don’t exist. You… you can’t…!”  
“You tried to be so careful, didn’t you Gerard, but in the end your own ego was your undoing. You had to gloat; you had to win. But this is one you can’t win. Not now.” Frank smirked before making his final comment. “And _that_ was for Ray!”

*

Sleeping in his arms, Lisa curled an arm around Bob’s bare chest and moved closer, resting her head on his shoulder. Bob had been awake now for about twenty minutes and had spent the time reflecting on the previous night and the sweet, gentle woman in his arms. They had kissed for the first time at dusk, only hours before and here he was now, waking up beside her. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t even expected, but it had been beautiful. His eyes watched the fall and rise of her breasts as she lay nestled against him and it was impossible not to smile. Another glance over to her alarm clock told him that the morning beckoned. Not only did Lisa have work, but Bob had a new therapist to see. Bob thought more about the appointment. She had only made the call the night before and, well, either he was a very good friend or he had time on his hands because the appointment had been made for late the next morning. The clock made its way steadily towards seven o’clock before the buzzer sounded with a grating, irritating noise that only alarm clocks seem to possess. Of course, the concept works perfectly, no one could sleep through the distinctly aggravating wail.

“Mmm,” Lisa almost sighed as she looked up into Bob’s deep frown. “Someone doesn’t like being woken up.”

Peeling away from the warmth and pleasure of Bob’s touch, Lisa hit the snooze button with more than a little irritation.

“Looks like I’m not the only one,” he smiled as she rolled back into place at his side.  
“What makes you think I was talking about you in the first place?” she laughed as within seconds, she had made herself comfortable once more.  
“You have to get up,” Bob laughed. “You have to go to work.”  
“Make me some toast?” she half requested, half demanded.  
“Is this how it’s going to be?” Bob asked, kissing her forehead. “You giving the orders and me obeying.”  
“Umm… would that be so bad?” she laughed sleepily.  
“Not at all,” he chuckled, pushing back the bed covers. Turning before leaving the room, he cocked his head to one side. “What if I rebelled? What if I wanted something in return?”

Lisa smiled teasingly as she pushed the sheets down to her waist. Chewing on the left side of her lower lip, she watched as he gazed appreciatively at her naked body.

“Tonight?” she asked suggestively.

Bob took a deep breath.

“So, toast!” he replied enthusiastically, to Lisa’s delight.  
Smiling, she ran a finger along her lower lip. “Breakfast in bed?”  
“You can have whatever you want in bed,” Bob replied with a broadening grin.  
“Well, I’ll start with toast.”  
“And later?”  
“Is it true that drummers can do different things with all four limbs at once?”  
“Yeah,” he grinned. “We can.”  
“Well, you can show me that then.  
“Do you have a drum kit?” Bob asked teasingly.  
“No,” Lisa smirked in return. “We’ll have to improvise.”

*

“Sit down, Gerard, I should warn you, this conversation is being recorded.”  
“Great,” Gerard frowned, ignoring his statement. “You again.”

Simmons offered a half smile in return.

“Yes, Gerard, it’s me again. Does that bother you?”  
“Well, I guess you’re better than the clown who dosed me with Thorazine yesterday.”  
“Hmm, yesterday…”  
“What?” Gerard demanded.  
“Quite an eventful day for you, wasn’t it, Gerard?”  
“You tell me,” he replied evasively, eyeing the psychiatrist with the same cold expression he had used during their first meeting.  
“All right,” Simmons stared back, unimpressed by Gerard’s attempt to intimidate him. Opening the file, he glanced down briefly before looking up once more. “You’ve started seeing more than one person now?”

Gerard tried to shrug indifferently, but the act was unconvincing.

“Yeah, there’re two of them now.”  
“But Ray Toro is still one of them?”  
“Oh, yeah, there’s no getting rid of him!” Gerard snapped.  
“Who’s the other one?”  
“I don’t know why you’re asking. I know that you got everything I said recorded. I guess there’s no point protesting my innocence any more?”  
“Is it Frank Iero?” Simmons continued, ignoring Gerard’s annoyance.  
“Yeah, Frank Fucking Iero, the one who tricked me into to admitting the whole thing yesterday. I’ve gone over every detail and I still don’t know how he did that! I was being so careful with what I said, but somewhere along the way, I stopped and I spilled out the whole thing in one huge gloating session.”  
“So you confessed to them? Why do you think that was? We’re you hoping for forgiveness?”  
“Didn’t you hear me?” Gerard snapped angrily. “I said I was tricked! All I wanted to do was put Iero in his place! I wanted to gloat, to make him feel small, well, even smaller than he is. I don’t know, somehow, not only did he make me admit to their murders but also that I was fully aware of everything while I was doing it.”  
“You said he tricked you into saying it? You’re suggesting it’s not true?” Simmons asked with curiosity in his tone.

Gerard shook his head irritably and scowled angrily.

“You’ve read the reports, heard the recordings. You know as well as I do that I’m guilty. The trial decided it and yesterday I went and fucking confirmed it! Every last detail, just as she said.”  
“She?”  
“The prosecution attorney. She didn’t miss a trick and just like yesterday, I got reeled in. Don’t know when to keep my big mouth shut! I have to win; I have to prove myself. And this time? Well you know the old saying – give him enough rope and he’ll hang himself? Yeah well, in my case, it’s too close to the truth to be anything but scary!”  
“Tell me about the trial. The prosecution attorney.”

Gerard rolled his eyes and slumped back in the chair.

“She was clever. I wasn’t prepared for just how easily she’d see through me. And how easy it was for her to get information on me. I mean they get the strangest details on ordinary people, all she had to do is Google me.”  
“You don’t think of yourself as ordinary?”

Gerard raised his eyes without physically looking up. He seemed to consider the question, but it was apparent to anyone who really knew that the question was met with contempt.

“No,” he snapped abruptly. “I don’t.”  
“Tell me how she saw through you.”

_“So, Mister Way,” Stephanie Williams, the prosecution attorney, rounded her desk slowly. “You say you woke up and you were tied up?”_  
_“Yeah, hands and feet,” he clarified._  
_“Your bandmates wanted you sober to threaten you?”_  
_“Yeah, I guess,” Gerard replied. His tone gave away the unnerving feeling he felt that she was alluding to something that he had not yet realised._  
_“Your story of how you got clean from alcohol and drugs is pretty well documented.”_  
_“What do you mean?” Gerard asked nervously._  
_“It took you seventeen days to sober up. You were in a pretty poor condition most of that time. Do you want to revise your story at all?”_

_Gerard took a deep breath; it was true, when faced with that information, no one would believe that he successfully sobered up for one day before falling apart again._

_“I didn’t say it was immediate,” he replied, hoping it would be enough. “I got sober, that’s all.”_  
_“You’re asking the court to believe that your bandmates had you tied up for seventeen days?”_  
_“I didn’t say that.”_  
_“But you did say that they kept you locked in the tour bus. Are you seriously expecting the court to believe that the entire time you were touring and providing interviews, that you couldn’t have made one single comment or phone call? That you couldn’t call the police? Or escape your supposed imprisonment?”_  
_“It wasn’t like that!” Gerard snapped._  
_“And that’s exactly what I’m suggesting. Isn’t fairer to say that you were paranoid and delusional during this time?” Williams asked sternly._  
_“No! Look, you weren’t there! You’re making it sound like it didn’t happen.”_  
_“That’s right, Gerard, because it didn’t happen, did it? These tapes you refer to. They didn’t exist did they? And you don’t believe they did. You’re inventing this entire scenario to make yourself seem the victim.”_

_Gerard glanced quickly at his attorney, who remained uncharacteristically quiet._

_“It’s your job to not believe me.”_  
_“No, Gerard, it’s my job to prove your guilt. We’ve seen the video with your confession to Marion Jacobs shortly before you killed her. Your defence was being forced into it by extreme trauma. But your story doesn’t stand up to well documented evidence. Isn’t it more likely, that you planned their deaths yourself for your own advancement; exactly as you described in your own confession?”_

_Gerard’s brow furrowed as he looked up into the eyes of the prosecution attorney. She had him. His defence was in ruins. Looking at the jury, he could see the distinct lack of sympathy in their faces._

_“You’re gonna believe him!” he snapped, throwing a pointing finger towards Bob, still seated with his head bowed. “They were crushing me! Holding me back!”_

_Colin Davies, Gerard’s defence attorney lowered his head; his client had lost his temper and with it, his chances. Realistically, his options were life or death. He was never hoping for an acquittal. Gerard would now be sentenced to death. It was almost not worth continuing the trial. Frowning at his client, Davies sighed heavily. Gerard was insane and quite simply unaware of the fact._

“So, you were found guilty.” Simmons frowned as he closed the file on his desk. “But even after that, you still pronounced your innocence?”  
“A guy’s gotta try, right?” Gerard shrugged.  
“But now, you admit that you’re guilty? Why is that?”  
“I don’t really have much choice, do I? Not after yesterday,” Gerard’s expression was one of extreme annoyance.  
“Yesterday?”  
“I confessed everything to Frank, I told him I knew exactly what I was doing the whole time. I told you. You know! It was recorded. You’ve heard it!”  
“There were no recordings, Gerard,” Simmons frowned in confusion. “We can’t make recordings, not without your knowledge.”

Gerard’s eyes widened as the words sunk in and a quiet yet clear chuckling started up from unseen figures in the room.

“You bastards!” Gerard yelled. “You knew! You set me up! You fucking bastards! If you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you!”

Strong hands clamped themselves around Gerard’s arms as his guard escort re-entered the room at Simmons’ silent alarm signal.

“Take him back to his room, but I’ll need to see him again this afternoon.”

Simmons watched with some curiosity as Gerard was dragged from the room, apparently oblivious to anything except his desire to pour out a vitriolic tirade to his two former guitarists.


	5. Bob sees a new therapist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard is headed back to Death Row and Bob sees a new therapist

Simmons tapped his fingers on the desk as he stared aimlessly off into the middle distance. He looked down at his notes; reviewing the stories Gerard had told various people over the last six months. All were different; some had only slight differences, while others varied wildly. Some had him held prisoner by the band and finally, he snapped. Some maintained that he hadn’t been involved at all and had genuinely been kidnapped. When asked about the confession, he had insisted that he was reading from a script and was forced to say it; his arrest and sentence was to be her punishment for him. Sometimes, he merely admitted killing them. It was as if he wasn’t truly aware of what was real any more. But more recently, the appearance in apparent visitations of Ray Toro and Frank Iero had disturbed him so much, that he had confessed his actions were premeditated; although the real reason had yet to be resolved. Gerard was proving to be quite complex; certainly he was not faking his psychosis. Disturbed mid-thought, Simmons glanced down as the phone interrupted his concentration. Even without answering, he knew who was calling.

“Warden Horley,” Simmons greeted him tiredly as he picked up the receiver.  
“How did you know it was me?” Horley replied, surprised by the response.  
“Let’s just say it was an informed guess.”

Simmons had mentioned his appointment with Gerard the day before and had promised to call Horley afterwards. It seemed that the prison warden was not prepared to wait. Simmons knew that his interest was in no way out of concern for the man and his condition, but merely out of desire to see him back on Death Row. The fact, in itself, would not be disturbing, if it weren’t for the fact that Horley believed Simmons and his staff to be incompetent and their security systems completely inadequate for such a dangerous and unstable prisoner.

“Well?” Horley began expectantly. “You’ve seen Way?”  
“Yes, he’s just left my office,” Simmons sighed.  
“What’s your evaluation?” Horley asked eagerly.  
“Do you want to know what I think, or just my recommendation?” Simmons asked, knowing it was unlikely that Horley would care.  
“Tell me your recommendation” Horley snapped almost aggressively.  
“Gerard Way will be rejoining your facility on Death Row.”

There was a sudden pause in the conversation and the silence became almost suffocating.

“Well, I didn’t expect you to say that,” Horley finally admitted.  
“No, I know you didn’t. I have one more appointment with him early this afternoon in my office across town, but you can arrange to have him collected afterwards.”  
“What… what happened to convince you?” Horley asked, still taken by surprise at Simmons’ decision.  
“Warden, what you never understood is that I was never needing to have my mind changed. I know you think of psychiatrists as bleeding-heart do-gooders, but I merely wanted to be certain of Way’s sanity or lack of it.”  
“So you think he’s sane?”  
“It’s not as cut and dried as, is he sane or not. The question is, is he responsible for his actions. He is, regrettably, suffering with a severe level of psychosis, but he planned it all out with the knowledge that it was wrong and he is aware that he’s guilty.”  
“He told you that?” Horley asked, amazed by the comment.  
“Warden, Way has told me a number of different things. Individually, they make perfect sense, but taken together, they definitely do not. He appears to choose his reality. He admits guilt, then denies it, then admits it again, almost as if he never said anything. He is suffering from delusions, paranoia and self-aggrandisement. I know he knows what he did was illegal, otherwise, why would he try so hard to cover his tracks? But he also thinks it should be acceptable that he did it.”  
“What about his ‘seeing people that aren’t there’ garbage?” Horley asked contemptuously.  
“I believe he is seeing them and that he believes absolutely that they’re real.”  
“Isn’t that all part of him trying to convince you that he’s insane?” Horley queried.  
“He believes he’s trying to convince me, but in the way he’s chosen to do it, he is as transparent as anyone else who tries to fake it. What he doesn’t realise is that he actually is insane and his attempts to prove otherwise only make him seem normal. I genuinely believe he is unaware of it.”  
“So where do his ghosts fit in?” Horley asked, uncertain that he understood what he was being told.  
“It’s hard to say,” Simmons replied with a shrug. “Maybe they are what’s left of his sanity, punishing him for what he did.”  
“So, what your saying is, he’s really fucked up and deserves to die?” Horley summarised.  
“I think Gerard Way is very ill, irredeemably so. But he is responsible for his actions and should be punished.”  
“So, that’s a fancy way of saying yes?”

Simmons sighed. He never understood why Warden Horley always had to bring everything down to such simplistic terms. This was not a simple case by any stretch of the imagination and making it seem so took away the importance of the evaluation.

“You can take whatever interpretation you wish, Horley, but I want you to arrange to have him picked up from my office at two o’clock.”  
“Wait a minute! Your office? You’re taking him out of the clinic?”  
“It’s all arranged. He’ll be under heavy guard, there’s no way he can escape between here and there and there will be guards posted once he’s there. Believe me, Horley, this has all been thought through.”  
“You don’t need to take him anywhere!”  
“I want to see how he reacts in a different environment. He’s been questioned at the prison and in the hospital. I want to see how he reacts in a regular therapist’s office.”  
“I don’t like what you’re doing, Simmons and I’m going to go to Judge Peterson and have this stopped!”  
“You can try, but I’ve already said that I can’t complete my evaluation without this interview,” Simmons replied condescendingly.  
“If you fuck this up, Simmons, and he gets away, I’ll have your licence taken away from you!”  
“It won’t happen, Horley, stop panicking!” Simmons replied angrily. “Just arrange to have your men pick him up.”

*

Bob glanced at his watch for the fifth time and realised it was only a minute later. He hadn’t expected to feel this anxious. He hadn’t even felt this nervous before his first appointment with Lisa; but then, prior to that appointment, he had felt very little. Slowly over months, she had coaxed out of him how he felt about the trial, his life and finally Gerard. He had only spoken about him directly once and had still not even spoken his name. It wasn’t a conscious thing, it wasn’t as though he refused to say his name, but there had been ways not to say it. Such was Bob’s trauma; he had internalised everything and Lisa’s role had been to chip away at the protective wall he had built around himself. Now, they had grown close and their relationship was now far from professional. For the first time in months, Bob was visiting a new therapist and even though he was someone Lisa knew and respected, he felt extraordinarily uneasy.

He had given too much thought to what he was wearing; he knew that. It didn’t really matter, did it? It was just a visit to a therapist, but he was acutely aware of the interpretation some people placed on what you wore. He wanted to wear a simple black t-shirt and jeans with a smart, yet casual black cotton jacket. Staring at himself in the mirror for what had felt like an age, he wondered if it looked too much like his Black Parade uniform. He wondered what the therapist would make of him wearing all black. Finally, he wondered why he cared. This was what he wanted to wear. He felt comfortable. He was going to wear it.

Downing the last of his coffee, he glanced at his watch again, it was time to move.

The office was across the street; he had been watching it the whole time. It was situated on a relatively quiet street in the office district, but within the hour the area would be bustling with smartly dressed office workers, grabbing lunch and picking up dry-cleaning. Dotted amongst the tall modern office blocks were small cafes, bars, delicatessens and coffee shops; all the trappings of a dynamic business sector.

Bob sighed heavily before entering the dark, glass-walled building on the corner. Approaching the reception desk, he mustered a faint smile.

“I have an appointment with Doctor Simmons.”

*

Standing alone in the elevator, Bob sighed as he watched the floor numbers illuminate one after another. He hadn’t really wanted to do this. Finding another therapist was something he knew he had to do. But want? That was something else entirely. At least Lisa knew him; he had to be okay, right?

Bob’s thoughts came to a halt along with the elevator. Drawing his lips into a thin, uncertain frown, he stepped into the corridor as the doors parted.

“You must be Bob.”

Bob’s head turned sharply to his left as he heard the unexpected voice. Standing at a desk only a few feet away was a tall middle-aged man with brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses holding a file. Bob stared blankly. He knew it could only be Simmons, but he hadn’t been prepared to meet him so soon.

“Bob?” he asked again.  
“Er… yeah, Bob Bryar.”

Simmons smiled kindly.

“Don’t be nervous. Come into my office.” Turning back to the receptionist, Simmons spoke quietly. “Sarah, you’ll let me know when my next appointment is here?”  
“Yes, Doctor,” she replied with a brief nod.

Following Doctor Simmons into his office, Bob could feel his pulse racing and a sensation of light-headness washed over him. He didn’t know why he felt so nervous, even at his first appointment with Lisa, he hadn’t felt this bad.

“Please, Bob, take a seat.” Simmons suggested as he rounded his desk.

Bob settled himself opposite Simmons. Allowing his gaze to wander, he took in the room. The office was large, certainly a lot larger than Lisa’s office had been, and dominated by the large antique desk. Near the window stood a table and four chairs. Clearly they were modern, but the design attempted to give the impression of another era. All of the contemporary furniture had been purchased with the desk in mind suggesting an older and perhaps a more peaceful time.

“Bob?” Simmons began.  
Returning from his daydream, Bob glanced over towards Simmons and offered a half smile.  
“Lisa’s told me a lot about you, Bob.”  
“Well, that puts me at a disadvantage, I don’t know what she’s told you, so I don’t know what to say.”  
Simmons smiled. “It means you don’t have to tell me everything from the beginning, you can start where you left off with Lisa. What was the last thing you discussed?”

Bob frowned at the memory of her last question to him as his therapist. Normally he wouldn’t remember the details so clearly, but this one had really jarred with him and he was simply not ready.

“She asked me what I would say to him if he were sitting in the office with me.”  
“Him?”  
“Yeah, him.”  
“You mean, Gerard?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You won’t say his name?”  
“The last time I said his name, outside of court, was when I found out he was trying to murder me.”  
“And you don’t want to say his name again?”  
“No, I don’t! I don’t want to use his name, I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to even think about him!”  
“Is that what you told Lisa?”  
“I told her I wasn’t ready, I can’t even begin to think about how I’d feel or what I’d say.”  
“Why is that, do you think?”

Bob sighed and looked down at his hands; he didn’t even want to think about why he wanted to avoid the subject.

“I think it’s a safety mechanism.”  
“Safety? You think he’d attack you?” Simmons pushed.  
“I didn’t mean that kind of safety, but yeah, I think he’d attack me!”  
“Why would you think that?”  
“He tried to kill me! Isn’t that reason enough?”  
“What if he’s sorry?” Simmons asked.  
“He’s not.” Bob replied bluntly. “I visited him in prison, he swore he’d kill me.”  
“Do you think that was bravado?”  
“No, he meant it. He would have killed me then and there if he could.”  
“What did you mean by ‘not that kind of safety mechanism’?”

Bob sighed and rubbed his forehead. “It means I don’t let myself think about it.”  
“Don’t you think you should?” Simmons pressed again.  
“No,” Bob replied firmly. “It’s too soon!”

Simmons sat back in his chair and interlaced his fingers.

“I can see this is upsetting you, let me ask you something else.”

Bob sighed with relief and sagged slightly in the chair. His style of questioning was much more aggressive than Lisa’s and he wasn’t prepared for it. If it hadn’t been for Lisa’s recommendation, he honestly believed he would have got up and left by now. Rather than put him at ease, Simmons had managed only to make him feel even more agitated than he had on arrival. Bob desperately hoped his next question would be less confrontational.

“Do you miss your friends? Do you feel responsible for their deaths?”

Bob turned a disbelieving gaze towards Simmons. Studying him for a few moments, Bob drew the inescapable conclusion that he had asked the question in absolute seriousness.

“How can you ask that!” Bob gasped at the insensitivity of the question. “How can you even think that’s a valid question?”  
“Lisa said you felt guilty.”  
“Survivor’s Guilt,” Bob corrected. “She called it Survivor’s Guilt and she said it was common. And no, I don’t feel responsible! That psychotic bastard killed my friends and tried to kill me too! I don’t feel responsible, I feel angry!”

A light flashed on Simmons desk and he pressed the adjacent button, switching it off.

“Good, perhaps now you’re ready to say what you really think about him?”  
“I don’t see how it would help,” Bob growled, irritated by Simmons’ technique.  
“Well, shall we see?” Simmons asked.

Bob sighed with annoyance as the door opened behind him.

“Bryar?”

Bob turned at the sound of the familiar voice; his eyes wide with shock as he saw Gerard standing in the doorway, flanked by two guards. Noticing his right arm in a sling, Bob wondered what could have happened to him to have caused such an injury, but would have preferred to see him chained as he had done in the prison. Being so close to the man who had tried to murder him and being tricked into it made him furious.

“What the hell is this!” Bob turned back to Simmons.  
“It’s obvious, Bryar, we’re seeing the same shrink,” Gerard laughed. “Didn’t you know?”  
“Did Lisa know?” Bob paled at the thought.  
“No, I didn’t tell her,” Simmons confirmed.  
“Lisa, eh? Well, well, Bryar got himself laid? Who’d have you?”  
“Shut up!”  
“Sit down, Gerard,” Simmons encouraged, as the door was closed once more.  
“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here, Simmons, but I’m not staying in the same room as him!”  
“You’re still afraid of me? That’s sweet.”  
“I’m not afraid of you, I just don’t want to be anywhere near you!”  
“Of course you’re afraid of me,” Gerard grinned as he walked towards the vacant chair. “And you know what? You should be!”

In the blink of an eye, Gerard had unhitched the sling from around his neck. Swinging the loop of cloth with deadly aim, it was over Bob’s head and pulled tight around his throat before he even had time to register what had happened. Grasping at the folds of cloth and gasping for breath, Bob tilted his head back in an attempt to open up his air passage.

“I told you you should be scared of me, Bryar!” Lowering his head, Gerard whispered into Bob’s ear. “This won’t be quick, but trust me, you will die.”  
“B… but… your arm?” Simmons stammered as Gerard stood up straight again and pulled the cloth a little tighter around the drummer’s neck.  
“It was dislocated, that’s all. It still hurts, but not so much that I can’t finish this. Oh! You mean the agony I was in this morning? Yeah, I faked it. If figured if I could maybe get this around your neck, I’d get out of here. But this? It’s not even my birthday!”  
“Gerard,” Simmons rose to his feet and held out a hand in a calming gesture. “Why don’t you let him go?”  
“Why don’t you go to Hell?” Gerard countered. “I told him I’d kill him and you just gave me the perfect opportunity.”  
“Gerard, you…” Simmons began.  
“Stop struggling!” Gerard interrupted, pulling back on the cloth, tightening it further before turning cold eyes towards Simmons. “You! Get that cable from the phone and tie his hands with one end and his feet with the other. I want him to know how it feels when you can barely move, like I was when he visited me.”  
“Gerard…”  
“Do you want me to kill him in front of you?” Gerard asked almost casually. “Do you?”  
“No, I don’t want you to kill him at all.”  
“Just do what I told you to do and get out.”  
“Gerard, I can’t let you kill him,” Simmons said with a stern a voice as he could muster.  
“Really?” the former singer laughed. “Well, what are you going to do about it? Look, you set him up so you’ll excuse me if I don’t believe you care and well, you’ll excuse me if I don’t care either. Now tie him up and get out!”

“Gerard! Don’t do it!”

Turning his gaze to the other side of the room, Gerard smiled cruelly as he saw the look of horror on Frank’s face.

“I wondered when you’d show up.”

Pulling the telephone cable from the wall, Simmons briefly stared in the direction that Gerard was looking. It seemed surprising to him to find that Gerard’s hallucinations were very real to him and not an invention to prove insanity. Even though he had long since drawn the conclusion that Gerard was truly psychotic, the finer points of his condition still surprised him.

“Who are you seeing, Gerard?” he asked as he approached with the cable in his hands.  
“Just tie him up. Are you deliberately stalling?”

Virtually unconscious, Bob offered no resistance as Simmons drew his hands together and wrapped one end of the cable around them.

“Tighter than that!” Gerard ordered.  
“Who did you see?” Simmons asked as he pulled the coils tighter around Bob’s wrists.  
“Gerard, please!” Frank begged, now at his side.  
“You’re a ghost, you can’t stop me. For all your tricks, you can’t physically stop me and if I’m going back to Death Row, it might as well be for the crime I originally intended.”

Simmons rose once more, having secured Bob’s ankles with the cable. Gerard turned a cold expression towards him.

“Get out!”

As Simmons backed away, he spared a guilty glance towards Bob, his eyes closed and his head lolling backwards. The doctor almost sighed with relief as he noticed that Bob’s chest still rose and fell.

“Get out!” Gerard growled again. “This is between me and him now.”


	6. Mikey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank tries to stall Gerard as Ray goes for reinforcements

“Lisa?”

Lisa looked up towards the source of the voice. In the doorway stood her friend and colleague, Sandra Hobbs. With an hour before her next appointment, Lisa was catching up with paperwork but welcomed the interruption. 

“Hey, San, what’s up?”  
“Bob Bryar, he’s your… what is he now?”

Lisa smiled and shrugged. They hadn’t been seeing each other long enough to give it a label, all she knew was that she wanted to.

“I guess we’re seeing each other,” she ventured.  
“Lis,” Sandra frowned as she walked into the office and closed the door behind her.  
“What’s wrong?” Lisa frowned. “He’s not my patient any more.”  
“It… it’s not that, it’s…”  
“What!” Lisa rose to her feet as she grew more agitated.  
“It’s just been on the news. Sit down, Lis.”  
“What’s happened? Tell me!”  
“His new therapist was also treating Gerard Way, he got them together and… Way went crazy and he’s got him… he’s got Bob tied up in the office, alone.”  
“He… that bastard! I trusted him!”  
“Lis? What? Who did you trust?”  
“Simmons, I used to work with him. He agreed to see Bob after I couldn’t. He didn’t say anything about Way. San, cancel all my appointments, I’m going over there now!”

*

“He didn’t do a very good job of that, did he?” Gerard commented as he inspected the cord wrapped around Bob’s hands and feet. “Always the same, if you want something done well!”  
“Gerard…”  
“You never call me Gee any more, Frank. Why is that?”

Frank watched helplessly as Gerard rose and dragged Bob’s unconscious form out of the chair. Kneeling, he untied the cord and, pulling Bob’s arms behind him, tied his hands painfully tight before bending his legs to tie his ankles.

“There!” he cried triumphantly. “You didn’t answer me.” He added as he jammed a chair under the door handle.  
“I called you that when you were my friend.”  
“Oh, poor Frankie. Am I not your friend any more?” he mocked. “Speaking of which, where’s Ray? It’s been him all along, but now just you? Where is he?”  
“He’s… he’ll be here soon.”

Gerard regarded the former guitarist quietly for a few moments. Frank’s answer was suspicious to say the least, but also, somehow disturbing.

“So,” Gerard looked down, “guess I was too enthusiastic. It’ll be a while before he wakes up and I do want him awake for this. Just you and me then?”  
“Gerard… Gee, why are you doing this? I mean, really, why are you doing this?”

Gerard frowned deeply. A part of him wanted to answer the question, another part of him wanted to laugh and another wanted to cry.

“You wouldn’t understand,” he sighed taking a seat once more, hugging his left leg to his chest.  
“Try me?” Frank suggested. “You’ve got nothing to do until he wakes up.”

Gerard stared, unseeing into the distance making no sound as he contemplated what to say. Glancing down he examined his fingernails, chewed his lip and finally, shook his head.

“This isn’t real, is it? None of this is real.”  
“What’s not real?”  
“None of this! I’m still on the tour bus, drunk, aren’t I?”

Frank’s eyes brimmed with tears as he heard the words. Was Gerard’s sobriety really to blame for his behaviour? Had years of alcohol and drugs messed with his mind so much that it was lost forever?

“This is real, Gee. All of it. You’re not going to wake up from this,” Frank replied quietly. “You know you killed us?”  
“I really wasn’t sure. For a while there,” Gerard sighed and rose to his feet. “I almost believed I’d imagined the whole thing. You know, I have a real problem with reality, it keeps moving and I have to keep a close eye on it or I’m afraid I’ll lose it altogether. Do you have any idea how that feels?”  
“No,” Frank admitted. “When did you first notice?”  
“I think it probably started before, but I first really noticed when he arrived,” Gerard replied in a surprisingly conversational tone.  
“Who’s he?”  
“Gerard.”  
“You’re Gerard,” Frank corrected.  
“No, the other one, the blond one. He had it in for me all along. It was either him or me.” Gerard began to pace the room. “That’s no choice! It’s not murder if it’s self defence, is it?”  
“No, Gee, it’s not,” Frank replied miserably, realising with dread where the conversation was leading. “Go on.”  
“The Black Parade had to die. He was killing me and… and he’d have killed you too. You had to die. Even if I die for this, at least The Black Parade will finally be dead and they won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore. You understand, don’t you?”  
“And that’s why you killed us?” Frank answered, his voice a mere whisper, still echoed in the silent room.  
“Yeah,” Gerard looked away, unable to maintain eye contact.  
“But why… I mean, Gee the way you did it. Why?”  
“That was him,” Gerard looked back, a pained expression covering his face. “That wasn’t me! I couldn’t stop him, a-and it’s why I have to finish the job. I have to make sure The Black Parade is dead. I mean, really dead this time.”  
“Gee?”  
“Hmm?”  
“What if I said you have the wrong Bob?”

Gerard stopped pacing and hung his head in exasperation before whirling around to face the guitarist.

“Do you think I’m crazy?” he yelled. “There is only one! I don’t think there are two of you!”  
“Then how can there be two of you?” Frank replied, frustrated at his misreading of the situation.  
“There isn’t, damn it! I wish there were, it would be much simpler. He’s in me. He’s part of me. He’s all the bad in me, he’s the one I have to kill and yes, I know it’ll kill me too, and that’s just how it has to be, but I have to kill the others first!”

A low groan came from the floor drawing Gerard’s attention. Glancing down, he saw Bob begin to wake, stretching his aching neck and frowning deeply even before he was fully awake.

“No time to chat now, Frank, I have to finish this.”

*

Even if she hadn’t known the exact address, Lisa would have known where to go. The street was swarming with police, the press, evacuated office workers and concerned fans. With the front of the building and immediate area cordoned off, Lisa had to ask the taxi to pull up several hundred yards away. Quickly paying with too much money, Lisa ran from the cab towards the building. Even as she approached she could see Simmons waiting with the police giving a statement that she assumed would be a pack of lies designed to try to keep his licence. Racing up, breathless and incensed, she broke through the line of police and headed straight for Simmons.

“You bastard!” she screamed.  
“Lisa, you don’t understand…” he stammered in return.  
“You’re damn right, I don’t! You put him in danger! Deliberately! I’m reporting you to the Medical Association, they’ll have your licence Simmons! And if I have my way, you’ll go to prison too!”

Simmons drew himself up, angry that her few words may have countered the careful lie he had concocted to keep himself out of trouble.

“Now then, Lisa. You are sleeping with the man, don’t you think you’re overreacting, just a little bit?”  
“You bastard!” Lisa screamed again swinging a clenched fist hard into his cheek. 

Simmons’ head jarred sharply to his right as Lisa’s venomous punch impacted against his jaw. He didn’t even feel his lip splitting before he spun to the right and landed in a crumpled heap on the floor.

“Don’t even think of arresting me for that!” Lisa bristled. “He put the same murderous psychopath that killed the other band members in the same room as Bob and let him attack him. He deserved it!”  
“Okay, okay!” The officer rolled his eyes as Simmons slumped over onto his side with a whimper. “Just… just calm down and tell me who you are.”  
“I’m Lisa Brady. Bob and I are dating. I want to know what’s happening.”  
“Okay, but it sounds to me like you know most of it.”

*

“Come on, Bryar!” Gerard snapped, slapping Bob’s cheeks to wake him. “I don’t have all day!”  
“What do you want?” Bob croaked unhappily as he realised his situation.

Taking a seat on the chair where Bob had earlier been sitting, Gerard kicked Bob’s shoulder.

“You know what I want! I want to kill you. But I want you to suffer, like you made me suffer.”  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bob groaned.  
“Of course not! Liar!” Gerard screamed, unimpressed at the reply.  
“Gerard?”

Gerard’s head jerked to the right, his breathing shallowed and he drew his mouth into a thin line. 

“I wondered if you’d ever show your face, Mikey.”  
“I didn’t want to come, Ray convinced me. He said you were trying to kill Bob.”  
“Yeah? What of it?” Gerard snapped back.  
“I can’t let you, Gee. I… I can’t let you.”  
“You can’t stop me, Mikes. You… you can’t stop me!” replied mockingly.

Mikey took a deep breath as Gerard turned away from him back to the bound and helpless form of Bob, lying struggling on the floor.

“I can, Gee, but you won’t like it, neither of us will.”  
“Really?” Gerard turned back briefly. “Do whatever you think you can do, Mikey, I’ve got work to do.”

Turning back to Bob, Gerard gasped in surprise as a sensation of being both crushed and torn apart enveloped him.

“Fuck!” he struggled for breath. “What the hell?”

Gerard dropped to his knees as Mikey’s spirit merged with his body. Finding it suddenly hard to breathe, Gerard took in air in fitful gasps. With clenched fists, Gerard gripped his head as he curled into an agonised ball.

“Get out! Get out! Leave me alone!” he screamed as he rocked back and forth, still kneeling near Bob. “Get… get… out!”

Finally, Gerard’s screams faded and he merely rocked back and forth, silently, staring off toward the wall. Sitting in the same position for a few minutes, hardly making a sound, Gerard finally crumpled to his left as Mikey separated from him and fell away to his right. Crying profusely, Mikey felt the comforting hands of Ray and Frank draw him into a hug.

“Are you okay? Mikes? What happened?” Frank asked, shocked by the paleness of his complexion and the sheer volume of tears shed in so short a space of time.  
Mikey nodded slowly. “So much confusion,” he gasped. “So much anger and sadness. He doesn’t know what’s real any more.”  
“He thinks we’re The Black Parade,” Frank explained. “He tried to kill The Black Parade off in Mexico, but we didn’t die. This time he did it for real.”  
“What now?” Ray asked as all three turned to look at Gerard.

The singer sat cross-legged on the floor next to Bob, merely staring. 

“So clear,” he muttered. “So clear.”

From his position on the floor, Bob turned his head to look back over his shoulder towards Gerard. Confused by his sudden change, he could only stare.

“So clear,” Gerard repeated. “His mind’s so clear. Mine… mine feels like a tornado. It shouldn’t be like that, should it? So clear.”  
“Gerard?” Bob spoke tentatively.

Gerard looked down towards Bob, still merely staring in stunned surprise. Leaning forward, he began to untie the drummer’s wrists.

“Mikey,” Ray whispered. “What did you do?”  
“I don’t really know.” The young bassist admitted. “I just asked for my brother back. He was in there, somewhere.”

Pulling his hands free, Bob scuttled back away from Gerard and released his ankles. Heading for the door, Bob turned before opening it. Staring down, perplexed at Gerard’s sudden transformation.

“Gerard?” he said again.

Looking up, the singer met Bob’s eyes, seeing him as if for the first time.

“I’m sorry,” he uttered. “I’m really sorry.”  
“Yeah,” Bob nodded, still uncertain what to say. “You should be.”

Quietly opening the door, Bob slipped out and ran for the elevator, shocked to have survived yet another attempt on his life.

*

“How was he left alone in there?” Lisa demanded. “Wasn’t he even handcuffed?”  
“Look,” Simmons began. “You just don’t get a case like that every day. I wanted to research it closely. I wanted to know how he reacted under different conditions.”  
“What kind of conditions?” Lisa snapped.  
“A regular therapy session. I wanted to see if he opened up more if he was just sitting, not chained, not guarded, just sitting in a normal session.” Simmons explained.  
“But Bob? You didn’t say anything, you knew who he was and you deliberately put them in the same room, no warning, no protection, nothing!”  
“I didn’t think he could attack him, he seemed to be in a lot of pain from a previously dislocated arm. I thought he was safe.”  
“You lying bastard! You would have done it anyway, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t you!”

A sudden commotion behind them drew Lisa’s attention. Turning her eyes widened as she saw Bob staggering from the building; the exertions from his escape weighing him down. She was already running to him when he collapsed on the steps.

“Bob!” she cried, cradling him and stroking his hair. “You’re all right. What happened? How did you get out?”

Bob turned a confused expression towards Lisa; sadness filling his eyes.

“He let me go. He seemed to be talking to Mikey, then he went really quiet and he untied me.”  
“Did he say anything?”  
“He said he was sorry.”

Lisa glanced up as the paramedics approached. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a group of police officers entering the building.

“Come on, let’s get you to the hospital.”  
“I… I just don’t understand.”

Lisa cupped his cheek with her hand and lightly brushed her lips against his.

“I don’t think we ever will. Come on, you need to see a doctor.” Turning back to Simmons for a brief moment, Lisa’s eyes darkened. “And trust me, Simmons, I’ll make sure you lose your licence for this.”

*

“Gerard? Are you coming?”

Gerard shook his head, remaining silent.

“Why not?”  
“I killed you,” he replied simply, his tone filled with remorse and guilt.  
“We know. Are you coming?”  
“How can you be so kind to me after what I did?” Gerard asked miserably.  
“Because it’s all that’s left. You’re sorry for what you did, aren’t you?” Frank asked.

Looking up with tears in his eyes, Gerard nodded.

“But it doesn’t change anything,” he choked out.  
“It does, it changes everything,” Frank knelt at his side.  
“It doesn’t bring you back.”  
“No,” Ray smiled, “it doesn’t do that. But it did bring you back.”  
“Gee,” Mikey took Gerard’s hand. “Come on. I got my brother back, I want to spend time with him.”  
“I killed you!” Gerard broke down.  
“No, that wasn’t you,” Mikey pulled him close. “You were lost somewhere in your own mind. I found you and brought you back. What happened, that wasn’t you, not the real you.”

With a splintering of wood, the door finally gave way and the police entered the room, weapons drawn. Looking down at the floor, each man in turn holstered his pistol. Reaching for his radio, the lead officer called downstairs.

“We’re gonna need a body bag up here. Looks like he’s killed himself. Stabbed himself in the neck with a letter opener. From the amount of blood on the floor, I doubt he’s alive.”

“Come on, Gee, it’s time to go,” Mikey encouraged. “We’re done here.”  
“What about Bob?” Gerard whispered.  
“He’ll be okay,” Ray nodded as he helped Gerard to his feet. “We’ll look after him, all of us, together.”

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there we go, closest we're going to get to a 'happy' ending :) Poor, crazy Gerard. 
> 
> Hope you liked it. Thanks for reading, commenting and kudos. I really appreciate it :) Sas xox


End file.
